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I composed a madrigal to the soot-black lashes of her pale-gray vacant eyes

Sunday. Heat ripple still with us; a most favonian week.

there came from the upper landing the contralto voice of Mrs. Haze

And every now and then she would volley a burst of Slavic at her stolid lover

certain mysterious characteristics, the fey grace, the elusive, shifty, soul-shattering, insidious charm that separates the nymphet from such coevals of hers